


swear to be overdramatic and true

by dreamer89



Series: slytherin goals [7]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst and Humor, Canon Compliant, F/M, Female Anti-Hero, Friendship, Gen, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Pansy Parkinson-centric, Post-War, Rare Pair, Slytherin Pride, Slytherins Being Slytherins
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:22:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22340245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamer89/pseuds/dreamer89
Summary: Did anyone really think Pansy Parkinson would be that easily subdued? She knows how to rise up from the dead; you could say she does it all the time.Featuring semi-reformed Slytherins, struggling to figure life out, squad goals, a serious case of arrested development, cauldrons full of snark, and a relationship that no one saw coming.Endgame is Charlie/Pansy.Canon compliant with OG 7 books and as much Pottermore, random tweets, etc. that I felt like conforming to (sorry not sorry)
Relationships: Astoria Greengrass & Pansy Parkinson, Astoria Greengrass/Draco Malfoy, Daphne Greengrass/Theodore Nott, Draco Malfoy & Pansy Parkinson, Pansy Parkinson/Charlie Weasley
Series: slytherin goals [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1601380
Comments: 2
Kudos: 45





	1. One

**1998**

Pansy and her friends only listened to Muggle music that summer. It was hypocritical, probably disrespectful, and difficult to understand at first glance. But the only alternative was an oppressive silence engulfing the venerable Greengrass residence, because Wizarding music had been ruined for them. 

When he was in school, Dmitri Rookwood had played the guitar and wanted to become as famous as the Weird Sisters one day. That was before he became a Death Eater and murdered two people at the Battle of Hogwarts; he would have taken out more had the Aurors not gotten to him first. So the music he used to blast in the common room was out. Then there were the pop songs Millicent had liked--also not to be played. Not to mention the old stuff that years ago, Narcissa had confessed to Draco that the Black sisters once knew every word to. Because Bellatrix Lestrange was one person, but Bellatrix Black had been someone else before that part of her died forever. Theo and Pansy had used the radio to obscure their conversations from the Carrow twins’ ears. Wizarding rock songs also served as a distraction when they had to treat injuries inflicted by the older set of Carrows, and in Theo’s case, his own father as well. Pansy wasn’t sure if she could ever listen to some of them again. 

After the Battle of Hogwarts, the six of them hid out in the Greengrass house--Astoria was the only one who willingly went to Wizarding areas because she had long since stopped caring about what anyone thought of her. A terminal diagnosis can embolden a person like that.

She and Blaise were the ones who kept them supplied with Muggle music. Astoria had solicited mixtapes from Hufflepuffs and some random Ilvermorny pen pal of hers while Blaise had amassed quite the secret collection over the years. Pansy reckoned many of them were probably acquired through the “Wingardium Leviosa-discount.”

Astoria was back to top form with her scheming, and apparently writing to everyone and his brother given the amount of owls that were arriving. She didn’t really get going until after the Malfoy trials, though. Merlin, that had been an ordeal. In an unexpected twist, Draco had voluntarily taken Veritaserum to get the testimony over with as quickly as possible. The front page of the  _ Prophet _ was dedicated to Malfoy drama, intra-family and otherwise, for a few days. Pansy understood why he opted for the truth potion--it was far better to be in a numb, relaxed state for all of that. She made sure he didn’t have a chance to see the newspaper, especially the column that implied that Narcissa was trading sexual favours to Shacklebolt to secure their release. Or the letter to the editor that called for his execution. 

When he somehow escaped conviction, he Flooed back to the house and didn’t say a thing; just slammed the door to his and Astoria’s room and didn’t come out for a week. Pansy also understood that behaviour--there were some days where she couldn’t get out of bed at all, and if she did it would be to pace around the house in the middle of the night. Theo had tried to come into her room to check on her once, and her startled display of accidental magic had nearly cost him an eye. 

She had been so angry at Draco after the Easter holidays, because she thought maybe if he would have been there, Avery wouldn’t have done what he did to her. Deep down she knew it wouldn’t have mattered, but he felt guilty and she let him blame himself for awhile. The hostilities thawed after the battle, although they hadn’t really talked much. He still knew Pansy the best out of any of them, so of course he was the one to find her, having already been sitting in the running shower fully-clothed for almost an hour. He stepped in and sat next to her underneath the cold water, letting her rest her head against his shoulder. 

Despite the rumours she knew had gone around the school, he had never made her do anything she didn’t want to do. They had awkwardly fumbled through it together, before they broke it off during his disastrous sixth year. Then she got up to all sorts of things with several other Slytherin boys to make him jealous, but it hadn’t worked because he had more important things on his mind than her. It gave her quite a reputation, while he became more and more withdrawn. Now they were both broken, but at least they were friends again.

“I got an owl from my dad today,” she said to him later, wrapped in layers of blankets like armour. “He’s transferred a load of gold into my account so the Ministry can’t seize it from him, and washed his hands of me. So now that’s the other parent, finally giving up.”

“I always wanted a sister,” he said to her. “Can’t say much about my own parents, but you’ve got me.”

“Alright. But I’m not changing my name to Pansy Malfoy, although you’re more than welcome to become a Parkinson. I would love to see Lucius’s face,” she replied, and they both broke into laughter.

A few minutes later, Astoria came through the doorway, sliding on the wood floors. She was wearing sunglasses, one of her mother’s jeweled tiaras, and Draco’s old Quidditch robes with a stereo propped on her shoulder. “AND I WOULD WALK FIVE HUNDRED MILES AND I WOULD WALK FIVE HUNDRED MORE,” she sang at the top of her lungs.

“I hate this song,” Draco and Pansy said simultaneously, but didn’t do anything to stop her.

Pansy was sure people on either side would be horrified to see a pureblood Slytherin behaving like this right now--right after the war--but maybe that was the point. The Greengrass sisters were both eager to defy societal norms, but Astoria especially. Pansy suspected it was part of some larger plan of hers, but sometimes she didn’t even want to know what was going on in that girl’s head.

Astoria subjected her to a passionate explanation soon enough, after Pansy asked who all those letters she was furiously writing were being sent to. Turns out she was communicating with the most popular Slytherins in each year. 

“Our House is long overdue for a bit of teenage defiance,” Astoria declared. “It’s likely that the most fervent supporters who aren’t dead or in Azkaban won’t send their children back this year. And even for those who do--well, Dumbledore told Slughorn who told Tracey who told me that none of the Death Eaters besides Snape were able to cast a Patronus. Not even the ones with  _ children _ , Pansy. We have reasons to rebel against pureblood culture, don’t you think?.”

“I suppose.”

“We were taught not to question things, right? So it’s no wonder when we get to school and everyone else says Slytherins are all evil and treat us like we’re destined to be criminals--we don’t question it. And at least the other Houses had McGonagall, Sprout, Flitwick--who did we have? Such fine examples of leadership as Snape, Alecto, Amycus, and Umbridge. The best option we had was Slughorn and he was too busy socialising with pureblood parents that he didn’t see how they were failing their own children.” Astoria threw her hands up in the air in frustration. 

She continued, “So we settle for apologies and excuses like ‘oh Draco, sorry I lost my temper, here’s a new broomstick’ as if that will fucking make up for it. But you know what, at least Lucius and Narcissa came through in the eleventh hour--”

“--but what about everyone else?” Pansy finished. She did agree with that point. 

“Wait and see, Pansy. It’s going to be quite the summer for Slytherin House.”

Astoria was right, of course. Ariadne Vaisey had announced to her parents over dinner that she was dead-set on becoming an Auror and no one was going to stop her before legging it upstairs and throwing herself and her school trunk out the window where a few Slytherin alumni were waiting to cast Cushioning Charms and Side-Along her out of there. The Runcorn siblings had staged a similar but more public scene at the Quidditch World Cup, although they didn’t run away and instead continued to raise hell in their own home. Flint’s younger brother had been forced to choose between Marcus and their parents and was now living at Marcus’s flat.

Then thirteen-year-old Essie Rowle turned up at the Greengrass estate, face stained with tears but resolute. Theo was so incensed after hearing her story that he punched the wall and looked at his mangled hand with horror before immediately Flooing to his new mentor’s house. He returned with Williamson a few hours later to collect Essie and take her to her temporary carers. When the girl was told that they were a married Muggle-born couple, she didn’t bat an eye and stated that anything was better than where she had just left. Word spread after that incident, and the handful of Slytherin adults who had followed Slughorn into the battle to assist the Light side created an informal network to ensure that all the current students had somewhere to go, if necessary, before school started. 

Pansy thought the concepts of redemption and atonement were overrated and unattainable. But defiance did have a particular appeal. 


	2. Two

“I’m really sorry about him trying to kill you,” Astoria said, gesturing at Dumbledore’s painting, “but I need you to let Draco come back this year, Professor McGonagall.”

Pansy stood in the Headmistress’s office next to her friend, amazed at how she got into this situation.

As the summer passed, she started having more alright days than bad ones. She kept herself busy by learning British Sign Language because anyone who thought that Pansy Parkinson would rather lose a lifelong friend than learn a (regrettably) Muggle method of communication had another think coming. It wasn’t Daph’s fault that her boyfriend’s psychopathic father hit her with a curse that was actually intended for his own son, and it wasn’t her fault that the Wizarding world didn’t have enough magical options for witches who could still do everything except hear. 

Daphne knew how she felt, of course, which is how she was able to guilt her into accompanying her to Muggle shops because, “I don’t think we’ll be welcome on Diagon Alley, Pans, and do you actually want to see me in whatever the dodgy shops on Knockturn Alley have to offer? I’m a wealthy orphan, help me frivolously spend my money.” Pansy was not going to be seen with Daph in some insanely ugly outfit, regardless of where it came from, so she went along with the shopping excursions to prevent such a catastrophe from occurring.

Otherwise, Pansy spent her time smoking loads of weed, drinking loads of alcohol, and contemplating life from under her duvet. That last activity is what she was doing one morning when Astoria knocked on the door, and as soon as she received permission to enter, ran in the room and dove onto the bed.

“I’m going to do something absolutely mental,” she said.

Pansy raised an eyebrow. “This is not a new phenomenon, Astoria.”

“Lucius told Draco he’ll never let him step foot in Malfoy Manor again as long as he’s with me. So if that’s the way he wants to play, well, I have a plan to get the Manor into Draco’s possession. Because Draco can’t move forward if he doesn’t deal with everything that happened there, and when Daph and Theo inevitably get married I want them to have full possession of this house, and mostly I want revenge on a man who claims to love his son but does a piss-poor job of showing it.” 

“You’re right, it is absolutely mental.”

“Don’t think I can do it?”

“Any answer will only encourage you further.”

Astoria grinned.

“Let’s make a wager. If Draco gets that house, you’ll go back to re-do your seventh year.”

To be honest, Pansy had been considering the idea of going back to school, but she was scared shitless about actually doing it. She knew Theo was being encouraged by his mentor to go back for his NEWTs and was bringing Blaise and Daphne along for the ride. Astoria had already convinced Tracey not to go the correspondence route, so of course she was on Pansy’s case now. 

“Fine. If you can pull this off, then maybe anything is possible and McGonagall will welcome her  _ favourite _ student back with open arms,” said Pansy.

Those words came back to bite her quickly. The surprise eviction was brilliant and bold and perfectly embodied the Slytherin adage that ‘the enemy of my enemy is my friend.’ It wasn’t fucking fair that someone who burned so bright as Astoria had to live with this blood curse hanging over her head, knowing that one day in the future, it would emerge out of dormancy. 

So that’s how Pansy ended up at this meeting with the Headmistress while Astoria pled her case to allow every member of their group to return in the autumn.

“He didn’t take the chance when it was offered to him, but I need you to give him just one more,” Astoria said. “Let me show you something. Dumbledore’s Army tried to teach me, but I couldn’t do it. But I kept trying, and a few weeks ago  _ this  _ happened....Expecto patronum!”

A beautiful silver dragon materialised in front of them, proudly stretching its wings out and then with a fierce look in its eye, letting out a roar of flames. There were a few gasps from the various paintings around the room. Even McGonagall seemed taken aback.

“I know what it means,” Astoria said, wiping away a tear with her thumb. Pansy’s own mouth dropped open once she put it together. To have that kind of love at  _ sixteen _ , that was powerful. 

“I recall a similar scene occurring in this very office with your predecessor, Minerva,” Dumbledore’s portrait said calmly. 

McGonagall nodded slowly, her fixed gaze on Astoria becoming very soft. “One more chance,” she said. Astoria’s smile could have lit up the darkest of rooms.

“Well I don’t have any moving displays of emotion to add to this conversation,” Pansy blurted out, “but someone has to be the most hated student at Hogwarts next year and it might as well be me.”

“I don’t hate you, Miss Parkinson.”

“Most people think that you should have confined us to the dungeons during the battle. The  _ Prophet  _ even did a poll. Eighty-twenty.”

“I would never have done that. You were afraid, you reacted, and I overruled you. I do think it’s time to move on.”

“Oh,” Pansy said, not expecting this response.

“You are aware, though, that there will be zero tolerance for anti-Muggle sentiment this year. All students will be treated with respect regardless of blood status, and breaking this rule will result in expulsion.”

“I’ve learnt to see beyond Death Eater propaganda, Professor. Not really sure what I do believe in, but I’m not going to become a younger--and far prettier--Alecto Carrow. I mean, if I wasn’t already discouraged by all the torture and death I witnessed, recently I discovered that  _ Accio That  _ is a complete rip-off of a Muggle band except for some changes to their lyrics. Daph and I went to every concert on their UK tour the summer before fourth year. I feel deceived,” Pansy mused.

She could translate the look on McGonagall’s face to something like ‘thank Merlin the Hat didn’t put this one in Gryffindor,’ but the Headmistress quickly recovered.

“What  _ do  _ you plan to do with your life?” she asked.

“Fuck all, now that I’m financially independent. Exactly as I told Snape during that bloody career advice meeting. I don’t know what you want me to say. What do you do when you wake up and you realise that you’re not sure about anything you used to believe in and you have no idea what to do next?”

McGonagall smiled wryly. “Welcome to adulthood, Miss Parkinson.”

“I think I’d rather stay in adolescence, thanks,” she said. “So does this mean I can make Astoria’s dreams come true and hang around the castle for a bit longer?”

“I’ll see you in September,” the Headmistress replied. 


	3. Three

Pansy’s bonus eighth year at Hogwarts would set the tone for her adult life. She was sure people remained bitter long afterward that she didn’t spend those months in floods of tears, commiserating with Moaning Myrtle, while all the Muggle-borns and other people she had ridiculed finally exacted their revenge. Well, too bad for them; the school bitch wasn’t always left in the dust to become skint and suffer, unlike in those _Ilvermorny Girls_ novels Daphne had recently become obsessed with as an escape from reality. Life is always more complicated than that, and Pansy was a complicated girl.

Yes, that year she did find out she had dyslexia, reveal her secret desire to work with unicorns, and have a panic attack in front of the whole school--but people were having breakdowns and poignant moments of self-discovery, or whatever, nearly every week that year. The Hufflepuffs had befriended Tracey, for Salazar’s sake. It was a strange time to be alive. No, these were the five things that defined the year for Pansy: the cool ‘S’, the Mushroom Incident, Muggle Studies class a.k.a. Hell, The List, and most importantly, the Conspiratorial Squad. 

Their new Conspiratorial Squad identity began with the Skeeter hatchet job that the _Prophet_ published only days into the first term. Rita was now trying to convince everyone that she had really been supporting the Light this entire time by providing Potter the necessary motivation to fight the Dark Lord, so she decided to have a go at her former sources. She used this wordplay on the Inquisitorial Squad for the headline, but the article was a hell of a lot more savage than its title.

None of Pansy's mates were spared. Skeeter argued that Blaise was the mastermind behind his mother’s alleged murder plots regarding her string of dead husbands. She speculated that Tracey might be an evil twin who killed her Muggle sibling to get all of her birth parents’ attention (because the real story of an illegal adoption wasn’t scandalous enough, Pansy reckoned). Daphne was portrayed as the spell-addled, clingy girlfriend of a violent boy who was doomed to follow in the footsteps of his murdering, abusive father. The records of Theo’s testimony were supposed to be sealed, but somehow Skeeter had learned some of the worst details of what his father had done to his mother and him and then printed them for all the Wizarding world to read.

The Malfoys had already received more than their share of press coverage, so after regurgitating the usual stuff including the suspicion that Draco was going to murder everyone in their sleep, Rita decided to focus on his relationship with Astoria. She revelled in the fact that Astoria had the blood curse, thus making her blood the dirtiest of all according to her malicious logic; although, Skeeter added, it was probably diluted by alcohol at any given time. The article also hinted that with the ongoing rift with his parents over Astoria, Draco had exchanged one overbearing influence for another, even stronger, one. Pansy suspected that Astoria enjoyed a bit of dominance behind closed bedroom doors, but that was _not_ something she wanted to actually know about, much less read in the bloody newspaper. 

And then Skeeter’s quill turned its attention to her. She knew about all the boys she had been involved with, from Theo (it was one snog in a closet, on a dare), to Draco, to Mitya Rookwood, Vaisey, Bletchley, and the rest. That history was used against her to claim that she was lying about Avery’s attack. That she was nothing more than the Death Eaters’ slag and always would be. Fuck, Theo had told her to be prepared for insults, but she hadn’t expected this level of slander. Slughorn let her hide out in his office for the rest of the day, probably because the teachers were all afraid she’d off herself just like her mum, and then Astoria and Theo came by with her favourite biscuits. They convinced her that the only way to fight back was more of that new Slytherin defiance--to show the school that they couldn’t be defeated by the lies of one way-past-her-prime bitch.

Astoria had promised Ginny Weasley that there wouldn’t be any more badges, but she started wearing a hair ribbon with “CS” printed on the ends. Pansy got herself and the other three girls matching silver “CS” necklaces, and Blaise got the boys engraved flasks. The name stuck, and soon everyone began referring to the seven of them as the Conspiratorial Squad--with contempt, with respect, and frequently, a combination of the two. They became the subject of many school-wide rumours, like the one that claimed they were trying to summon demons in the dungeons or the one about their underground fight club on Wednesdays at two a.m. on the Quidditch pitch. Pansy may have started that last one, just to see how many Gryffindors would turn up to investigate (the answer was twenty-seven).

But unlike the Inquisitorial Squad, the attention of the Conspiratorial Squad was not fixated on Gryffindor peers. They had moved onto bigger and better challenges, most notably Professor Caroline Tremlett, teacher of the now-mandatory Muggle Studies subject. Their special all-Slytherin class was a disaster from the first day, when Blaise waved his wand under his desk and changed the written greeting on the chalkboard _Welcome to Muggle Studies_ to read _Welcome to the Shitshow_. They tried but failed to suppress their laughter and since no one would grass him up, Tremlett gave the whole class detention. She let the other Houses get away with murder, but was eager to lay down the law from the start with the older Slytherins.

After dealing with the Carrows, Pansy thought that this detention would be easy. Tremlett announced that all they were going to do was write lines, but then she had Draco and Astoria sit facing the rest of the class so they could all see the couple every time they glanced upwards. She made Draco roll up his sleeves and write with his left arm outstretched, his Dark Mark on display, while Astoria had to hold his hand and write with her left. To shame him and mock her for being with him. Pansy seethed internally while Astoria and Draco fought to remain stoic. The next day, Slughorn apparently had words with Tremlett, and she never tried that again. But the damage had already been done.

Draco decided to use the class as his personal Occlumency practice time, and would do nothing but stare straight ahead in a way that seemed to unnerve their teacher. The others, Pansy especially, resolved to use their Muggle knowledge against Tremlett as often as they could. This is what led to the castle-wide ban on the songs “Another Brick in the Wall (Part 2),” “We’re Not Gonna Take It,” and the crown jewel of their musical research efforts, “Fuck School.” Not that this rule stopped them from honouring these Muggle compositions in the Slytherin common room. All in the name of post-war rehabilitation, of course.

It was while some of the Conspiratorial Squad members were corrupting the youth in their common room that the legend of the cool ‘S’ began. Pansy showed some first-years how to draw the letter starting with six straight lines, and their little minds were positively blown. The ‘S’ drawings started appearing everywhere, and it gave the baby snakes a chance to feel proud of something related to their House. It made the younger Gryffindors very jealous, she was told, but more importantly the first-years were no longer as intimidated by her. Anyone who would share the secret of the cool ‘S’ must be alright, according to eleven-year-old logic. Little Courtney Murphy already idolised Astoria, but now she would ask Pansy to braid her hair sometimes and it was rather sweet--not that she would admit it to anyone outside Slytherin.

But before anyone got the wrong idea and started to see Pansy Parkinson as a role model, the Mushroom Incident occurred. Blaise and Luna Lovegood had somehow become friends, and they convinced Pansy that it would be an ace idea to try some of Luna’s psychedelic mushrooms whilst wandering through the Forbidden Forest for several hours. They returned in time for dinner, where Blaise and Luna discussed philosophy from behind upside-down copies of _The Quibbler._ Meanwhile, Pansy spent fifteen minutes staring at a pheasant drumstick in her hand. When asked what was the matter, she kept repeating the phrase “feed your head," and then became frustrated when no one else could understand her clearly brilliant observations about the world. Soon Draco had to escort her to the Hospital Wing as she ranted, “Everyone needs to know! Nargles are real! IT’S ALL A MINISTRY COVER-UP!” 

Before the trip went awry, Pansy did have some legitimate realisations about her life. The next day, she sent an owl to Potter and pulled Granger and Ginny Weasley aside to apologise for everything she had done before the war. But then Granger asked her about how her classes were going and she replied, “All I need to worry about is Care of Magical Creatures; otherwise A’s get apprenticeships, as they say.” That sent Granger off in a strop, the moment ruined and balance restored to the universe once more. At least she and Weasley would now exchange polite nods and the like, instead of blatantly pretending the other didn’t exist.

It was shortly after this enlightening drugs experience that Astoria found The List in second-floor girls’ bathroom. She proudly presented her discovery at dinner that night.

“Hogwarts Cauldron List 1999,” she read aloud, then added, “You know, a list of things to do before you kick the cauldron, or I imagine, before the school year ends in this case.”

This was The List, in its entirety:

**Hogwarts Cauldron List 1999**

  * Go to a party
  * Have sex
  * Nosh 2 blokes off
  * Quidditch match
  * Decorate common room
  * Get drunk all the time
  * Camping over Easter hols
  * Actually do the History of Magic reading
  * Go to Hogsmeade drunk
  * Get stoned 17 times
  * Make an ace mixtape
  * Artsy bank holiday party
  * Buy a toad
  * Fucking wild birthday



“I have so many questions,” stated Pansy after she stopped laughing long enough to get the words out. “Why only two blokes? And is this supposed to happen _at_ the Quidditch match, or did they just plan to attend?”

“This has to be a Hufflepuff list,” Blaise interrupted. “I think the Ravenclaws always do the History of Magic reading, and I don’t think any Gryffindor party will ever qualify as ‘artsy’.”

“Please, the Hufflepuffs have far fewer virgins than you think,” said Tracey. _If any of us would know, it’s her_ , thought Pansy.

“Regardless of who wrote it, I think it is our duty to accomplish it since I was the one to find it,” Astoria said.

“You can already tick off the boxes for sex, drunk, and mixtape, Astoria, so why not go for the lot?” drawled Draco.

“Thank you for always supporting my goals, love,” Astoria said in such a sincere voice that it made Pansy crack up once more.

The List kept them busy from the start of spring term onwards. They decided that building a bonfire and pitching a tent outside the Greengrass estate counted as camping, and that flipping through the History of Magic textbook definitely met the requirement of doing the reading. The List was the impetus behind the party they had for Daphne’s nineteenth when even Granger got completely legless. 

Then one day after they had completed every task on the Hogwarts Cauldron List 1999, Pansy was sitting in her usual back row spot in Standard Charms class with Draco, Tracey, and Daphne. Flitwick asked Lisa Turpin to write something on the board, revealing her _very_ familiar handwriting. Pansy turned to her mates, mouth agape.

“I told you lot it wasn’t a Hufflepuff,” Tracey whispered, sending them all into raucous laughter that could not be stopped. Pansy was soon wiping away tears, and the rest were too similarly afflicted that they could not explain what was going on. Flitwick became so concerned that he sent the four of them to Pomfrey, who then went to get McGonagall. Tracey managed to convince them that _no_ , they did not need to speak to someone from St. Mungo’s, and that it was just a bit of exam stress.

But maybe Pansy had gone mad after all. Because that evening, the girl who started out as the worst Charms student of all the seventh- and eighth-years combined produced her first non-corporeal Patronus. 


	4. Four

**1999**

It was a Saturday afternoon in mid June, and Pansy was sitting outside the castle in a secluded area with her friends. Since it was just them, they were particularly relaxed; Theo lacked his typical guarded posture and even Draco’s sleeves were rolled up. Daphne was trying out a promising new captioning spell, but they still signed most of their words as they talked.

Pansy was halfway through both a Marlboro and a hilariously awful impression of Trelawney when her mates’ easy smirks transformed into defensive scowls. She swore and turned around to see the figure of Professor Tremlett looming over them.

“Is everything a joke to you, Miss Parkinson?” Tremlett asked angrily. “Don’t look at me like that, Miss Greengrass, when you are so eager to completely excuse this clique’s past actions as nothing more than childish things that pureblood culture made them do.”

“Why do you always try to put words in my mouth? What the hell do you want from us?” Astoria countered coldly.

“To take responsibility for your actions and realise that you’re lucky to even be alive, much less at this school.”

Pansy felt a fresh wave of anger swell up within her. “You think we don’t fucking know that? Have a look at that!” she said, gesturing to Draco’s forearm where a long scar ran down the middle of his Dark Mark. “Are you happy now? He did that months ago, but Astoria begged McGonagall not to tell any of the other teachers because she was afraid _you_ would find out,” Pansy snapped. “So instead of sticking to these fucking detentions, just get on with it and humiliate us, or beat us, or curse us, or Transfigure us, because that’s how most people think we should be dealt with.”

“Do you really think that little of the rest of the world?”

“I don’t know. No one’s ever asked me that question before.”

Tremlett was silent for a long moment, and then to all their surprise, she dropped to the ground and arranged herself in a cross-legged position.

“I’m listening,” she said, and she seemed to mean it, so Pansy began speaking. They talked for nearly two hours, and Tremlett actually asked questions instead of simply passing judgments. Pansy could tell she didn’t agree with or approve of everything that was being said, though, but it was still a better response than she ever thought they’d get out of her.

When the conversation wound down, Tremlett cast a surveying glance over the group and stated, “You are the most self-centered, obsessive, arrogant, insubordinate, dramatic, loyal, and resilient group of young people I have ever encountered.”

“Finally, someone understands us,” said Pansy, and Tremlett stood up with the slightest of smiles on her face.

With that, a detente between the Conspiratorial Squad and Professor Tremlett was reached, and they all just barely passed Muggle Studies. 

Pansy graduated without dropping from the rank of most hated student in Hogwarts, but she felt pretty damn smug during the Leaving Feast as they passed a flask around underneath the table amidst green and silver banners in the Great Hall. 

**2007**

Despite how much it bothered Granger, A’s did in fact get apprenticeships, to which Pansy could personally attest. But she had also received an Outstanding in her Care of Magical Creatures NEWT, so she got to study under Grubbly-Plank, who had been an infinitely better teacher than Hagrid at school. She smoked a pipe, could drink Hagrid under the table, and didn’t give a fuck what anyone thought of her. It was awesome. 

Then Pansy moved onto her current position at a unicorn sanctuary which would have absolutely thrilled her thirteen-year-old self, and still made her break out into a wide grin sometimes when she thought about how she managed to get here. The best part about her job was that she was classed as a researcher and could thus set her own hours and essentially do whatever she wanted as long as she published her findings every so often. 

She used a factual variant of Skeeter’s Quick-Quotes Quill so she could dictate her observations and a brilliant spell which changed the font in books to one with which she was much less likely to get the letters mixed up. She owled every single one of her articles to her dad, although he never sent back a reply. But Pansy would always receive a note from Draco mentioning a specific detail that let her know he’d read the entire thing. She’d take what she could get.

Despite her professional success, Pansy’s personal life hadn’t changed much compared to her school years. She prided herself on her bachelorette lifestyle. She had an address book full of both Wizarding and Muggle friends-with-benefits, not to mention all the one night stands the world over. She always managed to have a good time wherever she found herself--the rave scene, a posh cocktail party, or a dodgy snooker hall. The Conspiratorial Squad was always there for her, of course, but they had all become _respectable adults_ to her dismay. Blaise and Theo were Unspeakables, Daph worked for Gringotts, and Tracey was back at Hogwarts teaching. Draco and Astoria had literally created a human being, for Merlin’s sake. She felt like she was just seventeen yesterday. What the fuck happened?

Pansy ruminated on this mystery over a few firewhiskey sours at the Hog’s Head. She had spent her Saturday catching up with Tracey and rehashing their favourite stories from their tenure as students. Then McGonagall walked into the Arithmancy office and Trace addressed her as _Minerva_ , and that was too fucking weird for her to handle--and Pansy had seen a lot of weird shit in her twenty-seven years. Including Scorpius’s birth after Draco fainted in the hospital room and someone had to step up and hold Astoria’s hand. 

“Is that Pansy Parkinson?” a voice called out, snapping her out of her thoughts.

“The one and only,” she replied, swiveling around on her stool. “ _Tremlett?_ The fuck are you doing here?”

“I am still teaching, you know. I’m more interested to know what brings you to the Hog’s Head.”

“I love the atmosphere of gritty realism. Also, I’m currently banned from the Three Broomsticks after I kicked Cormac McLaggen’s arse for slagging Astoria off and repeating that fucking rumour which we _will not_ speak of.”

“I thought you loved gossip,” Tremlett said dryly.

“And I thought all the Time-Turners were destroyed but clearly not since you’ve gone back to 1997 and stolen Cherie Blair’s post-election hairstyle. See, I have become educated on Muggle history,” Pansy replied with a faux-sincere smile. 

Tremlett looked at her and shook her head. “Right, this round’s on me,” and sat next to her at the bar.

After the barman delivered a beer and Pansy’s fourth (fifth?) cocktail, Pansy learned that Tremlett was considering taking a sabbatical to go on a cross-country American road trip, which was something Pansy herself had always wanted to do. She had only visited the States twice so far: a somewhat traumatising but spectacular trip to Vegas for Daphne’s hen-do and then a visit to California where she was fairly certain Scorpius was conceived after a U2 concert. Great memories, except for the fact that Blaise still insisted on bringing out Pansy’s embarrassing LAPD mugshot every time someone mentioned that particular holiday. 

“So how about you? Still trying to save the unicorns? I would have thought you’d be angling for a cushy office at the Ministry by now,” said Tremlett. 

“Ha, the closest I’ve come to a Ministry position is when the DJ pulled me up into the booth at the Ministry of Sound,” Pansy responded. “No, I actually like what I do. Except for the fact that I have to spend the next several months in Romania to see if the talk about a White Flame pairing has any truth to it.”

This type of dragon-unicorn symbiotic relationship was extremely rare, and if Pansy could find it in the wild and study it, that would be a massive achievement for Magizoology. She was less than enthused about having to trek through the forests to make this discovery, especially if the reported sightings were just bored wizards taking the piss. But, Merlin, it would be fucking cool to be a White Flame eyewitness. 

Tremlett fucked off back to the castle at a pathetically early time, while Pansy closed down the pub with an unsolicited yet brilliant performance of several Eighties hits from atop the bar. Soon she would be out in the field. She needed to make the most of her remaining time in civilisation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> special thanks to some rando on reddit whose rant about malfoy inspired the first scene


	5. Five

It turns out, Pansy didn’t have to worry about leaving behind what passed for nightlife in Wizarding Britain--there was another pub to raise hell in even in the middle-of-fucking-nowhere Romania. Pansy should have expected that the dragon tamers would want to get away from the preserve when they could. She didn’t know much about their lot, but a majority were Durmstrang alumni, as evidenced by the flexing of biceps, grunting, and excessive consumption of straight vodka that she witnessed from her perch at the bar. 

At least it was a divergence from the typical Magizoologist, who Pansy diplomatically would describe as 'earthy.' Lovegood was alright, because she always had the best weed; also, Pansy had learnt to just let her ramble and enjoy the chill vibe. But she drew the line at folk songs and intense conversations about composting, which was many Magizoologists’ idea of a good time after a long day of fieldwork. To be honest, her job could be rather lonely; she was accomplished enough that she would always be invited to the annual Magizoology conference, but she never really socialised with the other young researchers. 

Looking around the pub, Pansy didn’t think that she belonged with the dragon contingent, either. She did reckon she might have had one-night stands with at least three of them, but she couldn’t be sure. Blaise definitely shagged one of the guys throwing darts...and come to think of it, Tracey had a summer fling with his short-haired, tattooed female opponent. But in terms of her own dating prospects, the situation was not promising.

Then the door opened and a tall redhead strode in, a confident grin on his face. Pansy paused mid-sip. Fucking hell, he was attractive. Somehow, the shit lighting in this rural pub shone perfectly onto his hair and, Merlin, she wanted to run her fingers through it. Somehow, this awful red wine didn’t taste as bad as it had a second ago. Somehow, that flannel shirt he was wearing seemed like just the thing that her closet was missing on a cold morning, while he made breakfast in their shared flat and they had the whole day ahead of them for whatever they wanted to do...and then she was sharply snapped out of her reverie, the words hitting her like an Impediment Hex. 

“Hey, Charlie!” one of the American guys called out. 

Charlie. How many other gingers who worked with dragons in Romania called Charlie could there be? Besides Charlie Weasley, of course.

Pansy downed the remaining contents of her wine glass, and immediately asked the bartender for a stronger drink. He obliged with some traditional Romanian brandy, warning her that it was a family recipe and extremely potent. Pansy threw back the shot without flinching, and the barman slid the bottle towards her in response to her challenging stare. 

She poured herself another shot and was about to pick up the glass when someone walked up next to her and said, “You sure you want to do that? Do you know how strong that stuff is?”

“Who the fuck asked for your opinion?” Pansy retorted, turning her head to see none other than Charlie Weasley leaning with one arm against the bar. 

“Relax, I was just taking the piss. Mihai doesn’t let visitors come near the ţuică unless he thinks they can handle it.”

“At least that’s one test I’ll always pass,” she remarked, then paused. “Do you know who I am?” she asked with narrowed eyes.

“Oh, is the notorious Pansy Parkinson above a bit of friendly conversation?” he said, some defensiveness creeping into his tone.

“Does the renowned Charlie Weasley really want to be seen with me?”

“I thought you might know who I was. I have to be honest, I knew you would be coming. I’m actually the one who put it together that we might have a White Flame around here.”

“Well there fucking better be, since I had to come all the way out  _ here _ .”

“I know what I saw,” he said with a casual self-assurance that Pansy actually found really hot.

Pansy grabbed the shot and drank it, then slammed the glass down onto the table without taking her eyes off Charlie.

He responded with another of those wide smiles that radiated Gryffindor energy and reached for the bottle.

Several hours later, Pansy and Charlie stumbled out of the pub into the cold night air. 

They made their way down the road leading back to the dragon preserve, far too drunk to Apparate, belting out the Harpies’ anthem into the darkness. He took her hand to help her steady herself, but she didn’t let go and neither did he. 

“UP THE HARPS!” Pansy shouted after they had run out of Quidditch songs and chants. “They’re gonna win the league this year, I know it,” she slurred, holding onto Charlie for support.

“Didn’t think you would support my sister’s team, but yeah, Harpies all the way,” he declared. 

“I like a team of women who don’t take shit from anyone,” said Pansy, adding on a long, “Woooooo!” that echoed in the late-night silence. Charlie laughed and tried to one-up her by howling like a wolf. Not to be outdone, Pansy followed up with another enthusiastic ‘woo’ in all her drunk female twenty-something glory.

“Merlin, I’m pissed, I sound like--” Pansy broke off. “Like someone. That I know,” she said awkwardly.

“ ‘S alright, Pans,” he said, and it was like he had been one of her friends for ages, instead of someone she just met in a pub that night. “I’m willing to look past the fact that you’re mates with the snakes,” he said teasingly. Pansy laughed, knowing full well that it really wasn’t that funny. But from him, in this moment, it was hilarious.

“I am a snake myself, how could you possibly forget?” she asked, still giggling a little.

“Because, brace yourself, Pans--I don’t give a fuck about Hogwarts houses!” he exclaimed brightly. “I was in Gryffindor, you were in Slytherin; who cares? As long as you don’t sic a basilisk on me, I’m grand,” he said, putting an arm around her.

Pansy burst into laughter, struck by his honesty, and how thrilling it felt to be close to him, and the absurdity of it all. 

“What the hell kind of a world do we live in, where that is a controversial statement for someone to make in their thirties,” she said after she recovered. 

“One that I don’t give a toss about fitting into,” Charlie replied.

“I don’t fit in well, either,” she said softly.

“Then they’re missing out.”

Fuck all the analogies about falling for someone slowly, like sleep overtaking you--Pansy felt like she had just taken a running leap off of a cliff. She leaned into him closer, trusting Charlie to guide them towards the lights ahead. 

He knew this place so well that all Pansy had to do was tell him the number of the guest house she was staying in, and he led them through the darkness to her door. 

Had this been any other man, she knew exactly how this would go. But she wanted this to be different. Needed this to be different. 

“I--Charlie--I want to see you again, but I can’t do  _ this _ yet. But I want to, I really want to. I just--”

“Pansy. It’s alright. All of it,” he said, and when she looked into those blue eyes she knew he wasn’t lying.

She squeezed his hand before she let go and walked through the door. Pansy pushed the window curtain aside and watched him disappear into the night, which was the kind of thing she thought only nice girls in wholesome romance stories did. But then she tripped over a half-unpacked box and chundered in the sink, so she knew this was definitely her reality.  _ Greetings from Romania _ , she thought,  _ I’m totally fucked.  _


	6. Six

Pansy woke up dizzy, still exhausted, and completely convinced that last night was a cosmic glitch. It had to be. 

Girls like Pansy (well, women really, but she still didn’t feel like an actual adult)--girls like her didn’t have relationships that lasted. They had fun, they had adventures, they had friends who stuck around, and they had exes who were left in the dust. Pansy’s nothing-to-lose attitude had seen her through this post-war world so far, and she saw no logical reason to give it up. She couldn’t let not only a Gryffindor but a  _ Weasley _ hypnotise her into letting her guard down so that he could make a fool out of her later.

Pansy drank a tall glass of juice mixed with a generous amount of hangover potion and went out in pursuit of an absolutely mental unicorn, in her opinion. Unicorns were much cleverer creatures than most people gave them credit for. The Wizarding world had branded them as an ethereal symbol of purity and virtue, but those were humans’ interpretations. They were creatures who knew how to survive; they had to, being such beautiful, attention-grabbing targets. How could a dragon ever understand that, when they could instill fear with one single fiery breath? 

That’s what made the White Flame pairing so baffling to Magizoologists. What advantage did a dragon and unicorn possibly gain by teaming up?

As Pansy searched for signs of unicorn activity, she started to get the eerie feeling that someone, or something, was watching her. So she turned to a time-honoured tactic for asserting one’s dominance in the forest. It always made her feel better, at least. 

“I’m a bitch, I’m a lover, I’m a child, I’m a mother,” she belted into the mist. “I’m a sinner, I’m a saint, I do not feel ashamed,” she continued, rising in volume. Might as well go for it.

Then she heard a twig snap. Pansy jumped around, wand at the ready, only to catch one foot on a root, take a few stumbling leaps, and then collide right into a tall redhead. He caught her before she hit the ground. 

Pansy let out a decidedly not-cute scream instead of the demure gasp that was supposed to happen when these things occurred. At least that’s how it went in Daphne’s beloved trashy romance novels.

“Oh, it’s you,” she said dryly after Charlie let her go. She brushed her hair out of her eyes, trying to look cool, unbothered, femme fatale. As if holding his hand last night was the furthest thing from her mind at the moment. 

“Brilliant observation,” Charlie replied. For a second, Pansy thought it was all going to be fine.

Then he  _ winked _ at her.

And she knew. 

And she knew that  _ he _ knew that  _ she _ knew.

Charlie fucking Weasley was flirting with her.

Sober.

In broad daylight.

“Aren’t you worried about scaring the unicorns away with that lovely performance?” he asked, with that glint in his eyes that completely undercut the attempt at sarcasm. 

“I will have you know that unicorns love a good anthem of female empowerment,” she said.

“I hate that you’re probably right.”

“Being hated and being right are two of my favourite things to be.”

“Oh, is that why you’re proclaiming that you’re a bitch to a load of trees? It’s almost as if you were scared to be out here by yourself.”

Pansy scoffed. “I was not scared. And I don’t know what you’ve heard about me, but I’ve got enough reasons to want to reclaim the word.”

“So you do see yourself as one of those edgy and misunderstood Slytherins,” he teased.

“Brilliant observation,” she mocked, using Charlie’s own words against him.

“You don’t exactly keep a low profile.”

“Read all about me in the  _ Prophet _ , then? Or have you been keeping a close eye to the chatter on the gents’ wall at the Leaky?” she asked Charlie.

His face grew serious. “I didn’t mean that, Pansy. I don’t listen to any of that shit. For such a small Wizarding world, it’s full of fucking gossip. I was trying to say,” he paused, and stuck his hands in his pockets. “Well, to say that you’re impossible not to notice.”

Pansy just stared at him for a few moments. 

“Are you having me on?” she asked him. “Is this one of those reality television programmes? I know about those. Or did you make a bet with someone? Wait...are--are you Polyjuiced?”

“Is it that hard to believe that I might actually want to get to know you?” he countered.

Pansy crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes.

“Yes, it is. Because as witty and alluring as I like to think I am, why me? I’m sure you could have your pick of the single witches out there.”

He shifted awkwardly. “That’s not been my experience.”

“You’re fit and tame dragons for a living, what’s not to like?” she blurted out in typical loudmouthed Parkinson fashion. 

Charlie’s eyes met hers, and he shot her a sly smile that felt like it was custom-made just for her. The confidence came back into his posture, and it made Pansy a little weak in the knees to realise that she could have that effect on him.

“I have a feeling we’re both pretty inexperienced when it comes to whatever the hell this is,” he said. “All this dating stuff gives me a headache. I’m tired of the games people play--”

“--and everything feels like a fucking audition, I know, it drives me absolutely mad,” Pansy interrupted.

“Then everyone wants to know why I’m the single Weasley holdout, as if I just needed to try harder at something I don’t even know how to do.”

“Right, and it’s not like you can have a fresh start with anyone, not in our world!” she exclaimed, throwing her hands up. 

“Well, I meant what I said last night. I don’t care about Hogwarts houses. I don’t care who Pansy Parkinson was ten years ago; I want to spend time with this Pansy. Just be you. Just be honest. That’s all I want.”

Honesty--that’s what had saved them in 1998. It saved Draco in the courtroom in the summer. It saved Pansy in the school corridors in the autumn. They were alive, and honest, and that’s about all they had going for them.

The second of May freed them too, after all. Pansy would never deny that.

She was down to a few hundred calories a day and so, so fucking close to swallowing her entire stash of stolen Muggle painkillers in the days leading up to the battle. She had no desire to put herself on the line for Hogwarts, not when she already knew how unsafe the castle could be. 

Everyone expected her to run away in the aftermath, but to even her own initial surprise, Pansy proved them all wrong. She rejected the plotlines they tried to write for her--their revenge fantasies, their sordid rumours, their insultingly low expectations. But a life spent proving everyone else wrong could be a lonely one too.

Now she was falling hard, looking at Charlie as the sun broke through the trees, gently illuminating his chiseled features. The only choice now was whether to fight it or not.

“I can do honesty,” she said, pulse quickening and hands shaking ever so slightly. “I find it very refreshing.” Pansy stepped towards him, shifting her gaze upwards due to their considerable height difference. 

“Good, because I really can’t think of any cool lines at the moment,” he said, leaning down towards her.

“Won’t be necessary,” she said, pulling him closer until his lips met hers. She didn’t want to say it, not even to herself.  _ Merlin, Pansy didn’t want to say it. _

Kissing Charlie Weasley sent sparks fucking flying, alright?

A few moments later, they were interrupted by the rustling of leaves. They both took out their wands; Charlie protectively holding Pansy with his other arm. They looked around for the source to see a unicorn pawing at the ground, clearly trying to get their attention. There was a gleam in its eye as if they were all in on the same secret, an expression Pansy had never seen in all her years working with unicorns. The creature inclined its head, urging them to follow. 

Pansy instinctively reached for Charlie’s hand and they pursued the unicorn, brushing aside branches as they ventured further into the forest. Finally, they stopped at what appeared to be a crude wall made of large stones piled high, forming a large circle. It didn’t look man-made, but certainly was out of place in this setting. The unicorn proceeded through the only gap in the stones, just big enough for it to fit through. 

Charlie and Pansy looked at each other with equal excitement and trepidation. The unicorn tapped its hoof impatiently, and they got the message. They walked through the passage, and there it was. The Hungarian Horntail, casually resting there, more relaxed than Pansy had ever thought a dragon could be. It turned its head to see the unicorn, and let out a small burst of fire in greeting. The unicorn curtsied in a regal but playful manner, and then trotted over to curl itself up against the Horntail as if this was the most natural thing in the world.

A real life White Flame, seen with Pansy’s very own eyes. She took Charlie’s hand and they simply stood there, entranced by the sight of a dragon and unicorn together.

That’s when Pansy realised that all the previous researchers had gotten it wrong. This was no mere symbiotic relationship; built on mutual benefits and cooperation. This was a dragon and unicorn mating, and probably for life, Pansy reckoned. This was a huge breakthrough for Magizoology. 

Pansy let out a thrilled gasp, jumping up and turning to Charlie, who picked her up and spun her around. Until he slipped in a patch of muddy grass and sent them both crashing to the ground, splattering mud everywhere despite a quick-thinking cushioning charm on Pansy’s part.

Pansy landed on top of Charlie, pinning him there by his shoulders. He raised his hands in mock surrender, both of them laughing. She pushed herself up, then dramatically tossed her hair, sending more droplets of mud flying. 

He grinned, and she descended. Pansy was determined to make those sparks fly once more. 


End file.
